The escapes of prisoners might be called romantic, could romance enter
the province of crime. While the first fleet were at anchor off
Teneriffe, John Powers slipped down into a boat attached to the
_Alexander_ transport. He boarded a foreign ship: his offer to enter as
seaman was refused. He then landed beneath some insuperable rocks:
assisted by the governor of the island, his retreat was soon found.
Such was the first absconder. The determination to escape from New South
Wales, induced the prisoners to listen to every project, and to commit
their lives to boats of the most imperfect structure, in which they were
usually lost. But Bryant, an expiree, his wife and two children, and
seven convicts, escaped in a small fishing boat (1790). He had purchased
a compass and quadrant, and obtained a chart of his intended course.
They provided food for the voyage, and the boat was in excellent trim;
they were met at Timor by the crew of the _Pandora_, sent to the
southern seas to arrest the mutineers of the _Bounty_. Bryant professed
to have suffered shipwreck: he was kindly received by the Dutch. He died
at Batavia; also one of his children and two of his companions: the rest
were afterwards seized, and conveyed to England, where the story of
their sufferings excited the public compassion, and they were merely
detained in Newgate for the unexpired term of their sentence.[180]
Their nautical intrepidity and their comparative success, inspirited
future attempts. But the most celebrated project was concocted by Irish
convicts, who proposed an overland passage to China! Of forty-four men
and nine women absent, the greater part perished on this curious
enterprise.[181] Some, after the absence of several weeks, re-appeared,
exhausted with fatigue and hunger. The Governor, finding it impossible
to prevent elopement by punishment, attempted to convince them by
experience. He furnished some of the strongest with provisions, and
appointed them conductors, that they might proceed as far as possible
towards the desired land: they returned, only partially convinced that
flight in that direction was hopeless.
The imagination of the prisoners pictured an elysium beyond the
mountains. A seductive rumour long prevailed, that in the interior a
community of white persons were living in primitive innocence; but many
years elapsed, ere the notion obtained the consistence of a story. In
1833, an account was circulated in England, that white people were found
several days journey from the north coast of New Holland, in a village
enclosed by a wall to defend them from the natives. They spoke in Dutch,
and stated that their ancestors, among whom were twelve females, came
from a distant land; that their vessel was broken; that they travelled
far towards the rising sun; that many died by fatigue, and the rest
settled on that spot--a beautiful valley, on the borders of a lake. A
full description of their habits and customs was given in the _Leeds
Mercury_, but which can have no interest to such as disbelieve their
existence.[182]
The _Young Lachlan_, a vessel the property of Capt. Howard, was seized
at the Derwent, by sixteen prisoners (1819). The sails were bent; the
rudder was on board: she was freighted and provisioned for a voyage to
Port Jackson. She lay outside the cove, and was to drop down the river
on the morrow. The four seamen were surprised, and shut down below: the
darkness of the night and a strong wind favored their escape; passing
the battery, unseen by the guard. At daybreak the pilot boat, with, a
party of the 48th regiment, gave chase: a sloop, the property of Mr.
Birch, with another detachment, followed. The boat found the seamen on
Brune Island, but both vessels returned without any other success.
Arrived on the coast of Java, the robbers destroyed the vessel by fire.
They then presented themselves to the authorities as shipwrecked
mariners: their story was believed; but at length they were suspected of
piracy, and imprisoned. Some of them confessed: all, except five, died
at Batavia, to which place they were transmitted, and the survivors were
conveyed to this colony by the _St. Michael_. The _Young Lachlan_ not
being on the high seas their offence was not piracy: they were therefore
charged with stealing only. Their punishment was necessary, but who
could forget their temptation?
One of the more common methods of elopement was to hide in the hold of a
ship, often with the connivance of the sailors, until the vessel had
cleared. Scarcely did a ship quit the coast during the first years of
the colony, without discovering, mostly too soon for the culprits, their
concealment. Sometimes, to stir them from their stowage, the vessel was
fumigated. Ships calling at Van Diemen's Land often delivered up
absconders, found after they had weighed anchor.
When secreted runaways were enabled to avoid detection until the ship
had advanced far on her voyage, they were conveyed to England, and
usually surrendered to the authorities. A soldier, on looking down the
hatchway of the _Dromedary_, when returning to England (1820), saw a
spectre walking the deck below, who requested a glass of water: the
soldier alarmed, made known the vision; and after a search, a stranger
was pulled out from among the planks with which the vessel was laden.
Having said "we," repeatedly, in speaking of his condition, the presence
of another was suspected, and further search discovered his
companion.[183]
Morgan, a Welshman, who concealed himself, was more fortunate: having
made a considerable sum by his labor, which he was desirous of carrying
home unbroken, he concealed himself in the hold of a vessel, and after a
few days appeared on deck. He was carried to London, and handed to the
police, when he coolly thanked the captain for his passage! He had
satisfied the law before he ventured on his voyage.[184]
The penalties on merchantmen conveying prisoners in a clandestine
manner, were sufficiently severe. The most remarkable was the instance
of the _General Gates_, an American vessel, which carried off ten
prisoner mechanics, and one free man;--a double violation of the local
laws. The _Dromedary_, store ship, was instantly sent in pursuit, and
captured the vessel at New Zealand. An action for twelve thousand pounds
was instituted by the Governor, and awarded by the court (1820). The
judge, in his address, dwelt chiefly on the ingratitude of the
defendant, who, "being permitted to partake in a valuable fishery, had
abused the hospitality of the country, and had gone into low
public-houses to entice away their best workmen!" This, indeed, was the
chief grievance, and occasioned the rigour of the pursuit and capture--a
stretch of power, it was deemed proper to compromise.
It was made lawful to arrest any persons suspected of being illegally at
large, and to detain them until they "proved otherwise;" the onus of
proof resting with the person apprehended: indemnity was provided for
those who did anything in furtherance of the act. In defence of these
powers it was alleged, that tenacity of the forms of British freedom was
unsuited to a state of society, where of the adults more than one half
were prisoners; and to distinguish them was impossible. The government
maintained that free persons, arrested in _bona fide_ error, were bound
to regard their consequent sufferings as a tribute to the welfare of the
country; but considering the ungentle spirit and ruthless instruments of
convict government, it was necessary to check these prerogatives with a
considerable responsibility.
The arrest of Mackay, a free man, at Swan River, indicated the danger of
undefined powers, and the boundless arrogance of office. He was seized
by the commander of a vessel and delivered to the _Phoenix_ hulk, New
South Wales, where, loaded with irons of unusual weight, his clothing
branded, he was confined with prisoners destined for a penal settlement.
Having been brought up by a writ from the judges, he was _discharged_,
and _retaken_: again the court interfered, and the man--never known as a
prisoner, against whom nothing but a general suspicion existed; who had
been torn away from a distant colony, and exposed to the contemptuous
treatment of those through whose hands he passed--owed his final
liberation to the interference of an advocate, and the firmness of the
judges. He obtained L200 damages, against which the government appealed,
unsuccessfully, as excessive!
Absconding has been punished with various degrees of severity. By the
first governors it was held a venial offence: before the law provided
any specific penalty, it was usually flogging or a penal settlement. A
capital respite was, however, sent to Port Macquarie: within three
months he absconded, with several companions, and started to reach
Timor: on his re-capture, he was executed without further trial
(1823).[185]
A colonial law, of 1827, made it capital to escape from a penal
settlement. It was intended to prevent a recurrence of those evils which
resulted from the Macquarie Harbour elopements. That it intimidated a
single person, to whom the chance of escape was presented, is extremely
doubtful: that it rendered their efforts more desperate, and their
course more sanguinary, is far more probable. No one will contend for
the right of a prisoner to burst the bonds imposed by a sentence, yet
will it never appear to justify the sacrifice of life. Such laws are
useless: they outrage the common sentiments of mankind--more criminal
than the offences they intend to prevent: they belong to what Lord Bacon
stigmatised as "the rubrics of blood."
Their extreme diffidence of each other, has rendered the combined
opposition of prisoners impossible. A guard of two or three soldiers is
sufficient to intimidate hundreds, and to prevent an open effort to
escape. The sentinels have, generally, displayed forbearance and
consideration--the honorable characteristics of the British soldier.
Governor Arthur recommended a declaratory statute, to subdue any doubts
respecting their right to shoot absconders, which seemed common among
the military. That right had never been called in question; and in two
instances only, during fourteen years, was it exercised in this country.
The sense of responsibility is a healthy emotion: promptitude in taking
the life of a runaway, however tolerated or authorised by law, could
never be remembered by a soldier but as an odious execution.[186]
The piratical seizure of vessels lately, has not been common: escape is
easy in other forms. The elopement of individuals has been attended with
no great perils, since the establishment of the surrounding colonies.
Craft of small burden have been sometimes taken, and at the close of the
voyage dismissed. Prisoners have passed as merchandise, or boldly
submitting to examination, have been lost in the crowd of emigrants. A
contrivance was recently discovered, by the fatal consequences which
followed it: a woman was enclosed by her husband in a case, and on
arriving at Port Phillip was found dead.
These instances comprehend most of those forms of escape which are found
in the colonial annals. They prove how powerful the passion for liberty,
with which, when united to common intelligence, the threats of legal
vengeance, or the vigilance of official guards, cannot cope. The same
instinct, however, which induces men to break their bonds, restrains
many more from transgression, and is a powerful auxiliary to the laws.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 179: Ikey Solomon.]
[Footnote 180: _Collins's New South Wales._]
[Footnote 181: Ibid.]
[Footnote 182: Clarke, executed at Hobart Town (1835), and who for five
years wandered among the natives of New South Wales, asserted he had
seen an isolated colony of Malays, or some other nation, the remnant of
a shipwreck, which had existed for ages on the borders of a lake in the
far interior to the north of Sydney. This he affirmed to the last moment
of his life. If reliance can be placed upon his testimony, the village
he described is doubtless the same, and is yet to be discovered. "Clarke
addressed the people from the scaffold, acknowledging his crimes, and
imploring all who heard him to avoid the dissipated course, which had
led him to so wretched and ignominious an end." Upon this execution Dr.
Ross adds--"It is a matter of consolation that we have a pastor,
possessed of the very peculiar--we had almost said tact--but we should
rather say endowments, with which Mr. Bedford is gifted, for leading to
repentance, and affording all possible consolation to the miserable
beings in their last extremity."--_Courier, August_, 1835.]
[Footnote 183: _Cunningham's New South Wales._]
[Footnote 184: _Gazette_, 1824.]
[Footnote 185: James Hawkins, a celebrated pugilist and pickpocket, was
not less remarkable for his escapes. He was transported to Hobart Town,
where he found several persons who invited him to become a bushranger:
he refused, and devoted all his efforts to escape. In this he succeeded:
soon re-transported for life, again he stowed himself on board a vessel,
and returned to Weyhill, and was again transported. On his way to the
hulks he once more got off his irons, but was secured (1820). In gaol he
was orderly and quiet, and refused all enterprises which might have
compromised his life.]
[Footnote 186: _Par. Papers_.]